About Locke's Experience with the State Bar

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My career began long before law school was ever on my radar. After serving in the U.S. Marine Corps, I built a 23-year career in retail leadership, working with household names like JCPenney and Marshall Field's. Then I transitioned into mortgage banking, founded a firm, and eventually took it public. I spent another two decades helping people buy homes, navigate regulations, and build financial security. I learned early on how to build systems, manage teams, and deliver results. But somewhere in those later years, I realized I needed to better understand the law—not just for my business, but to help others in the industry. The rules were changing, and too many of us were getting left behind. So at 55, I enrolled at Concord Law School, (now known as Purdue Global Law School) one of the first fully online JD programs in the U.S.

I didn’t choose an online law school because it was easy. I chose it because it was the only option that made sense for someone like me—a business owner, a husband, and a father.

Concord (now Purdue Global Law School) offered a rigorous program. I studied 30 hours a week, often late at night after running a company during the day. After five years, I graduated. Two years later, I passed the California Bar, widely regarded as the toughest in the country.

From there, I built a law practice focused on federal mortgage compliance.

Today, I serve clients in 26 states. Many are small lenders, brokers, and entrepreneurs trying to navigate an industry that’s become more regulated than ever.

My job is to help them stay compliant, protect their licenses, and grow their business without getting buried in bureaucracy. I’ve seen firsthand how a single regulation can put someone’s entire livelihood at risk. That’s what drives me.

But when I applied to the Texas Bar, the same state where I live and do business, I was told I didn’t qualify.

The Texas Board of Law Examiners rejected my application because my law degree was earned online. Despite my credentials, experience, and record, they dismissed me under a rule written before modern virtual education even existed.

Let that sink in: I had passed the California Bar, built a legal practice, and maintained a spotless ethical record—but I was denied simply because I didn’t sit in a traditional classroom.

That’s when I knew I had to fight. Not just for myself, but for the next generation of non-traditional law students.

I didn’t take on this challenge lightly. Over four years, I filed multiple applications, gathered expert affidavits, and presented a detailed case to the Texas Supreme Court.

This was a grind—financially, emotionally, and legally. There were setbacks, moments of doubt, and more than a few times when I wondered if it was worth it.

But then I’d hear from a student who said they were inspired by my story. Or a professional who felt shut out because of their online degree. And that kept me going.

In May 2025, the Texas Supreme Court ruled in my favor. They recognized my qualifications and ordered the TBLE to re-open my application and accept my education and experience.

This ruling is bigger than one case. It signals a shift in how legal education—and professional education at large—is viewed.

Today, many respected universities offer hybrid and fully online programs. During the COVID-19 pandemic, even the American Bar Association temporarily allowed remote coursework. The landscape is changing, and our licensing systems must change with it.

Now, Texas appears to be joining other forward-thinking states like Indiana and Utah in recognizing that capability and character matter more than the delivery format of your degree.

And this isn’t just about law. I’ve spoken with nurses, accountants, educators, and other professionals in regulated industries who are facing similar resistance. Online doesn’t mean inferior. It means accessible, flexible, and modern.

Many of the clients I’ve worked with run small firms. They’re juggling everything—compliance, staffing, marketing—and trying to build something sustainable. One client told me, “If I hadn’t found you, I would have lost my license last year.” That’s the kind of impact this work has.

When licensing bodies disqualify professionals based on delivery method instead of capability, they’re not just hurting careers—they’re harming the communities those professionals serve.